


Utter Fool

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Relapse, attempts at suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after the season three finale and his relapse. Sherlock is struggling with depression, thoughts of self harm. Darker than my usual fare so be warned.<br/>The beginning of this was posted on tumblr but it changed slightly and grew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Utter Fool

The flames and their companion shadows flickered in the fireplace. Light and dark …. black and white … right and wrong. He sat in a haze … desperate …. adrift in half thoughts, clouds of self-loathing swirled around him.

Hatred turned inward soon enough turned outward, and sputtered in all directions. He had berated her, called her an utter fool for standing by his side, told her to spread her pity elsewhere … “Go share your inane platitudes with the schizos at the shelter and leave me be.” She walked away.

His failure was complete. No way back …. no way forward … no way out. He turned the box in his hands. The high polish of the wood reflected a distorted image of his face. 

It was an antique but an operational one, purchased long ago … it was the only logical solution, the best for all concerned … the best for her .... she would be free of him and he free of himself.

He opened the box. Stared blankly. It held nothing .... nothing but the crushed red velvet outline of its former occupant.

Enraged, he jumped up out of his chair and hurled the box into the fire, heard the splintering and crackle of it meeting it’s demise, before yelling out her name.

“WATSON!”

“Right here.” Her voice answered from behind him.

He pivoted, his face blood red with rage, and charged at her. She calmly stood her ground. He stopped inches from her face. "Where is it? You have no right to interfere. You are nothing to me. Do you understand! Nothing. I feel nothing for you, for me, for anything. I want this over."

Joan looked up at him and took the brunt of his ravings without reaction. Her voice was clear and even when she responded. "A year ago, I was in very much the condition you are now. The stress of the kidnapping and Mycroft and the MI6 and the Le Milieu killings...." Her voice trailed off for a second as she remembered. Joan took a breath and continued, "And then you abandoned me, leaving me with five sentences, with no concern for my well-being ... It all proved too much for me ...." Sherlock took a step back not wanting to hear anymore. 

She continued. "I knew where you stored it. I knew it was functional and how to use it. And .... I did." Her voice cracked. "It misfired. I didn't have the strength to try again."

Neither spoke. Neither moved. Impassive masks shrouded their faces; the only hint of internal turmoil, the quickening of their breathing. 

"It's gone now. Ms. Hudson took it."

Sherlock nodded; his eyes anchored to a spot on the floor between them, afraid to detach lest everything float away. Lost. Overwhelmed. Unable to speak or move.

She watched him, angered by his lack of response, lack of emotion at her confession. The wound was reopening - that desperate need in the pit of her stomach for some kind of assertion of her importance to him.

Preparing herself to rebuke him for his passivity, she took a sharp breath in. The sound involuntarily wrenched his eyes to hers.... and she saw him ... she saw him crumbling slowly before her and her heart broke open.

She extended her hand to his arm. He pulled away. Once again avoiding her gaze, he spoke haltingly, each syllable laced with pain.

"It's no use...... I am bound to fall again. I fear ..... I'll take you down with me." 

Joan grabbed his arm and forced her face up close to his. "Sherlock Holmes, the only thing you are bound to is me. You know the way you are feeling is a chemical imbalance, fed by relapse and situational stress. It is not who you are. We are going to see Dr. Reed. Both of us. Understood? And we will get through this together."

The intensity of her words and the anger in her eyes touched the small piece of him that had not yet drowned in despair. "Yes, doctor." He tried to move his facial muscles into something resembling a smile but failed. 

Joan winced at his attempt. "Come on. You need food." She took his elbow and started moving him towards the stairs. "I'll make you some eggs, some tea. You need some proper rest too..."

He abruptly stopped in mid-step. He stared at her trying to convey his love and fear and gratitude and devotion, all with with no success. In lieu of words, he reached for her, incrementally moved closer, and placed his arms awkwardly around her waist and shoulders. 

A surprised Joan moved with him, rested her forehead lightly on his chest and wrapped her arms loosely around his waist. She could feel him shaking ever so slightly, and she gripped him tighter, hearing the words he whispered in her hair.

"I'm sorry ... I'm an idiot ... don't deserve you ... promise you'll never ..." He buried his head on her shoulder not willing to face the terror of ever losing her.

They stayed wrapped together for a moment or two, murmured promises, let tears drop, pulled apart grudgingly and made their way downstairs in silence.


End file.
